


A Tale of Hermes, Messenger of the Gods

by I_am_the_Muse



Series: Tales of the Gods [2]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_the_Muse/pseuds/I_am_the_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermes walks into a bar....</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Hermes, Messenger of the Gods

The bar was dark, and smelt of sweat and vomit. It was an above average bar, to say the least. The stools even looked like they had red cushions on them; a faded, dirty-in-a-stained-sort-of-way, but cushions none the less.

Even so, the messenger decided to stand rather than sit when he ordered his drink.

In all honesty, he never used to drink so much, when he was younger, but the Gods could be petty and annoying, and sometimes it was just fun to get shit-faced and have fun with a couple of mortals. Men, women, didn’t really matter. It was all about the fun, really.

The 70’s were well and truly a god-send. However the clothing he was forced to wear definitely made him feel like an arse. There were far too many colours. Or too few.

Take the women who sat beside him for instance.

Her hair was unnaturally straight, and all black. Her eyes were surrounded with black, and her lips were coloured in the black. Black skirt, black shirt, black boots. Black, black, black.

He knew that somewhere behind all the blackness was a woman searching for an identity. Perhaps once the all black get up went out of fashion she’d find it, but somehow he doubted that. She had the look on her as someone who would wander this earth for as long as she lived.

His kind of woman.

She caught him staring and just grimaced before looking back at her own glass. Everyone else may have thought it to be vodka with the faces she was pulling, but he knew water when he saw it. Also the actress. Maybe he’d marry this woman.

Yes, in the next century perhaps, when she was a little more his age.

He took another swig of his whiskey before he turned so that his whole body was facing her. She turned to look at him, and merely raised her eyebrow expectantly, boredom written across her face.

“You know it’s hard to talk to a pretty girl like you when you look at me like I’m about to fail,” he said, and smiled warily. He didn’t know if he even had the energy to play this game with her. But he would try. He didn’t like beautiful women to be lonely.

“And yet that hasn’t seemed to deter you, old man,” she replied cheekily, and went back to sipping her water.

“Most women would have asked if I really thought they were pretty,” he said quickly. He knew the question was on her lips, but she was far too spirited to make it easy for him.

“Most men would only talk to me because they some weird kink.”

“Clever girl. I hope that comes from observation and not experience, though.”

“Why? D’you want me to be your perfect little virgin?”

“God, no. I’d just hate for your sweet heart to be hardened by the perverse nature of this world.”

“If you really believe that then you should stop talking to me.”

Hermes sighed. This woman sparked a fire within him. Not a sexual fire – though that was part of it – but a fire to fight back. She was clever and quick and just sarcastic enough for him to find her humorous.

God, he wanted her.

“I understand,” he said after a moment, and turned back to the bar and ordered another drink. He wasn’t the type to push anyone, and he could tell that she would keep pushing til he shut his mouth, “sorry to bother you, by the way.”

“What?” she asked, a little shocked at how easy he acquiesced to her request.

“I can understand if you want to be left alone. Most of the time I want to be left alone, trust me. I’ve got a big family, and they are all arseholes,” he said, and downed his drink, “but sometimes it’s nice to be around like-minded people, you know?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly.

“Like you, for instance. No one will ever believe that you and I have anything in common, and on first impression, we don’t. But if you really wanted to be left alone tonight, you wouldn’t have acknowledged me at all.”

She had nothing to say to that and took another sip of her water. Hermes watched as her little pink tongue swiped across her black upper lip and he marvelled at the sudden contrast in colour.

“You wear all that dark make up, all the dark clothing, just so that no one will look at you. Just so that they’ll leave you alone. But I know that under all that darkness there is a rose just waiting for someone to shine the sun on its petals so that it may bloom, bright and beautiful for all the world to see.”

He had gotten more impassioned by his speech than he meant to, and he coughed a little so that he could regain his composure.

“Sorry, I just let myself rattle,” he said chuckling and looked down at his watch, “And I have to deliver something in a few hours, but I don’t see why I can’t do it now.”

He pulled out a few bills from his pocket and placed them on the bar, smiling at the bartender, before making to leave. The woman’s hand gripping onto his arm stopped him though. He looked up at her wide eyes and couldn’t help the puzzled expression that slipped onto his face.

Even more puzzling was when she hopped off the seat, cradled his head in her hands and kissed him for she was worth.

The kiss was heated and eager and desperate. She managed to slip a soft whine somewhere in there as well – one which he’d barely heard over the loud music.

“Do you wanna have sex?” she asked the second she’d stopped kissing him.

He could barely formulate a reply, but she seemed to get his answer when she down to see what was digging into her stomach at this close proximity. Then he was dragged out of the bar and into this pick-up truck which seemed to belong to her.

She drove them to the outskirts of town, in a secluded part of the forest, and for a moment he thought that she might be some sort of psycho killer. He wasn’t all that worried – he couldn’t actually get hurt – but it would put a damper on the erection that was being rubbed through his denim jeans by this woman.

He still didn’t know her name – though somehow he didn’t think she cared that much.

The next few moments were spent trying to get in the best position to have sex in a truck, whilst also trying to get his jeans down to her ankles and her panties anywhere but where they were. It was a little awkward, until she would ask him to tell her about the flower she was.

“A rose,” he groaned when she finally impaled herself on her, “a rose just waiting to be seen, to be touched.”

“Yes, touch me,” she whimpered and began riding him in earnest as he reached up underneath her shirt and bar to fondle her breast. And such soft breasts they were.

“It just need sunshine, just needs to be nurtured,” he couldn’t help but groan between his speech as she clenched her inner walls, “Oh, and when it blooms it’s – ah – it’s so magical how it happens. To see it happen.”

Her panting became more rapid as did her thrusts against him. If she kept squeezing him like she was, this night would end very soon, and he didn’t want that.

His one hand left her breast, and instead he spread it over her abdomen so that his thumb brushed against her clit. She cried out, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, making him hiss from the sensations.

She couldn’t really hurt him, not unless he wanted her too.

“You just wanna bloom, don’t you baby? You just want everyone to see how perfect you are?” he rasped out.

“Yeah, yeah, just like that!”

He knew she was barely listening anymore, but it seemed to work. She came, cussing and shuddering. He came soon after, not even try to stop anymore, and thrust up into her with as much restraint as he could, scared she might hit her head on the roof.

She rode out the waves slowly; a long lazy smile graced her lips. The black makeup was now smudged and dripping down her face with sweat, but she had yet to notice.

He sat up slowly and held her to him for moment, before removing his shirt to begin wiping some of the smudges off. She just laughed at his attempts of gentleness, and they not so easily manoeuvred themselves back to their previous seats.

He watched her, amazed at how different she looked as she wiped away all her make up with his shirt. She was still that same fiery woman from the bar, but at least now he could see her pale complexion and her rose petal lips.

“You really do need a bit of sunlight in your life, dear,” he said, smiling broadly. She only shook her head and chuckled, and made to give him back his shirt.

“No, keep it, please. May you look at it and think of me often,” he said quickly, “Very, very often.”

She laughed again at the lecherous wink he threw at her, and started the car. When she looked back to ask him for his name, he was gone. She had heard no door, no shuffling.

He was just simply gone.

She looked down at his shirt and brought it up to her nose to sniff gingerly.

Yes, she certainly would think of him often; very, very often.


End file.
